Tomorrow will be two weeks since I went under the knife --
my total hip replacement.
And my amazing surgeon is this month's hero.
Maybe this year's ... the way this country is headed now...
Hip replacement? Me?
Yes, they said, showing me the X-rays.
My cartilage had deteriorated in two places, bone on bone, with spurs.
What the heck?
It happens to all ages, they say, as early as late 40's to 70s, 80s.
It's nothing I did wrong.
Disintegration happens.
My activity level BHS (before hip surgery) had slowly crumbled over the last two years.
I went from an active late 50s something, going to the gym 3-4 times a week
to going not at all;
from brisk walking once or twice a week
to walking once a week - if I was lucky - for 10-15 mins,
and in Tim-Conway-Oldest-Man mode.
Remember Tim Conway, Oldest Man skits?
That was me.
Then. BHS.
(thank God I was under anesthesia -- no feel, no see, no hear)
walking very carefully at first with a walker,
then a cane,
to "Look at me! No hands!"
I'm now walking pretty much unassisted, normal gait -- not brisk, but not TCOM mode.
In fact, I have to walk twice a day for 20-30 mins a day
as part of my ongoing recovery and PT.
I'm encouraged jacked!
The pain has been quite tolerable, the incision pain being the worst of it,
and that has been only the last few days, as the nerve endings surrounding the incision
begin to wake up, reconnect, and heal.
I still cannot tie my shoes or put on my socks or paint my toenails
or anything else with my left foot.
That will come, they tell me. Be patient.
I am patient. Sort of.
Well, okay. Not really.
But I suck it up and follow orders. Because that's something I DO do well.
I follow orders.
How do I get from A to Z in the most efficient manner?
Maximize and optimize all experiences.
Give it 100%.
That I can do.
Oh, but I feel so lazy at times, this recovery phase.
I wake up, eat a light breakfast, skim social media,
skim Real News headlines,
read my Kindle book(s),
and once every hour I get up and walk and stretch for a few minutes.
Wash, rinse repeat.
I'm down from two naps a day to one.
If it weren't for the required walking outside,
I'd be much further along on my way to
feeling like a blob of Play-Dough.
Good things come to those who wait...
and follow orders.
After my two-week follow-up visit tomorrow, I anticipate that my surgeon will give me the blessing
to spend the rest of my four weeks of recovery
at our lake house
(promising him I'd get out and stretch every hour on the drive there)
as opposed to being cooped up in our tiny, third-floor apartment.
(I was wondering how in the world I'd manage those stairs up to our apartment after surgery)
Sure enough, they had me doing stairs HOURS after surgery, just before discharge.
No slacking allowed, they said.
I miss my lake house.
My sanctuary. My happy place.
And Benaiah.
